


Don't Give A Damn About My Bad Reputation

by dear_monday



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Genderswap, Punk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/pseuds/dear_monday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her name is Francesca, although last week she broke Gabe Saporta's nose for calling her that. While he was still reeling backwards and swearing, she took a long, thoughtful look at him, then kneed him in the balls (for saying Black Flag were shit) and spat in his eye (for trying to grab her tits). Then, she whipped his smokes out of his pocket, picked up a bottle of vodka that definitely wasn't originally hers, and left the party. Her name is <i>Frank</i>, and she's a fucking legend. For an <a href="http://anon_lovefest.livejournal.com">anon_lovefest</a> prompt: "Frank as the classical punk/grunge girl, with Doc Martens and a cig in hand."</p><p><b>Edit!</b> Now with <a href="http://dapatty.livejournal.com/82160.html">podfic</a> by <a href="http://dapatty.livejournal.com">dapatty</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Give A Damn About My Bad Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for potentially triggery depictions of misogyny and homophobia.

Her name is Francesca, although last week she broke Gabe Saporta's nose for calling her that. While he was still reeling backwards and swearing, she took a long, thoughtful look at him, then kneed him in the balls (for saying Black Flag were shit) and spat in his eye (for trying to grab her tits). Then, she whipped his smokes out of his pocket, picked up a bottle of vodka that definitely wasn't originally hers, and left the party.

Her name is _Frank_ , and she's a fucking legend.

~

His name is Gerard, and on the whole, he finds people quite intimidating. More specifically, he's sort of terrified of Frank, and he's never even met the girl, only heard of her through third- or fourth-hand gossip. He doesn't need to have met her to know that she could eat him alive. It isn't _his_ fault, it just suddenly seems like after what happened to Gabe she's all anyone can talk about. He knows, for instance, that she plays guitar and sings in a band – _her_ band, which totally has an obscure literary reference in the name – and that she's got a lip ring and a fuckload of tattoos. Obviously, she's too cool for him. Like, actually so far out of his league it isn't even funny.

Also, hot as hell. Because – well. A girl as fuck-may-care as Frank? Who not only laughs in the face of your bullshit preconceptions of femininity but probably, like, stubs out her smokes on the metaphorical arms of said preconceptions? Yeah.

He mostly keeps these thoughts to himself. He quite likes his limbs the way they are.

~

"No, man, _no_ ," Gerard is saying. He's pretty wasted, at least semi-shitfaced by his estimation, but he overheard some douchebag talking shit about girls who wear their skirts short and how they're _"like, totally asking for it, you know?"_ , and Gerard had sort of intervened before he even knew what he was doing. "No, man," he insists. "You're not fucking _listening_. It's like. It's like, you're perpetuating this, this myth that all dudes are fuckin' _cavemen_ with no self-control or anything."

The douchebag regards Gerard beerily for a long moment. There's a brief, shining split second where Gerard thinks he's actually got through to the guy, but then comes the inevitable narrowing of eyes and the final pronouncement of, "Fag."

Gerard sighs. Principles are great, right, and he's very attached to his, but he knows a waste of breath when he sees one.

The asshole jerks his chin at something behind Gerard. Gerard doesn't look round; if high school taught him one thing, it's that the old what's-that-over-there can and will only lead to pain and humiliation. "Like her," the guy says, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. "Frigid little bitch, won't fucking give it up."

Never one to be speechless for long, Gerard opens his mouth to start on the many, _many_ things wrong with this, but there's someone shoving him unceremoniously out of the way. It's a girl with a badly-bleached mohawk, in Doc Martens and a baggy Misfits shirt, a half-smoked cigarette tucked behind her ear. There's ink all up her arms, her hands, her neck, lines and color that Gerard is already dying to have a closer look at. She's tiny, too, shorter than Gerard and he knows he isn't a big dude, but she looks fucking _pissed_.

Gerard takes an involuntary step backwards. This must be, can _only_ be Frank.

" _What_ ," she growls, daring the guy to say it again. "So, like, just because I'm not dressed like a fucking _nun_ – " (Gerard resolutely does not look at the really, really tiny pair of denim shorts between her shirt and her docs) " – but I don't actually want your dick in me, that makes me fucking – fucking, what did you even say, _frigid?_ What next, you gonna ask me whose cock I had to suck to get into the band? Fucking original, man, like I haven't heard _that_ from every other asshole in this motherfucking town."

Her hands are balled into fists by her sides, but the guy is apparently too drunk or just too much of a douche to do the smart thing and back down. He spits on the ground, right at her feet. She doesn't even flinch.

"Fuckin' cockteases," he says, swaying a little and slurring. " _All_ of you."

There's a beat of heavy silence, and then there's a hand fisted in the front of Gerard's shirt and another one in his hair and holy shit _Frank's tongue practically down his throat_. It's... actually not fantastic. Gerard is so busy being shocked and terrified (because this is _Frank_ , and she could totally fuck him up with both hands behind her back, oh _god_ ) that he doesn't really have the brainpower to spare for kissing back. She kisses hard, not like any girl he's ever kissed before, and it's a middle finger to the douchebag, a _yeah? What are you gonna do?_

She still scares the shit out of Gerard, but from the moment when she pulls back, wipes the back of her mouth on her hand and saunters away with a professional hellraiser's grin, he thinks he might be just a bit in love with her too.

~

When he catches up with her later, she's standing in the empty backyard, taking a break from the party crowd, leaning back against the wall. The cherry of her cigarette is a little point of light in the cool darkness.

"Uh," he says, going over to her but trying not to stand too close. He cringes inwardly at how squeaky his voice has gone. Damnit, what's the point of liquid courage if it doesn't _work?_ "Hi. So, you don't, like, actually know me or anything," _nice, Gerard,_ everyone _digs the stalker thing_ , snarks a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Mikey. He forces himself to carry on. "That guy was an ass, but, um, you were awesome back there. Just, like. Wanted to let you know."

This was the worst idea. The _worst_. He's going to go back inside right now, find a bathroom, lock himself in there and die quietly of shame.

She exhales a lungful of smoke, shrugs, then drops the butt and grinds it out under the heel of one of her beat-up docs. "Nah," she says. "I've dealt with worse. It's shitty, but after a while, you kind stop giving a damn." She squints thoughtfully at him. "You sure I don't know you? I think... oh, hey! You're Mikeyway's loser brother, right?"

"That's me," he agrees automatically, so stunned that Frank – _Frank_ – knows who he is that he doesn't even think to dispute the unflattering description. Although, actually. Yeah, that sounds about right. She grins, and punches him in the shoulder. His eyes water a little. Fucking _ow_.

"You too, dude, you told that motherfucker. Awesome."

He just about refrains from doing a really spectacularly dorky little victory dance. _Frank thinks he's awesome_.

"Hey," she says, peering at him intently. She grabs him by the arm and yanks him closer. "Is that _Magneto_ on your shirt?"

He looks down, and dies a little on the inside. Just when he'd been doing so well, too. He braces himself for the inevitable mockery.

"You really _are_ lame," she says, awed, like she can't even believe that it's possible to be so monumentally uncool. But then she looks back up at his face, and she's grinning, so maybe she's cool with him being uncool enough for both of them. "Hey, my band's playing a show tomorrow. You should come."

"Really?" he's pretty sure he's fucking _beaming_ , which does not exactly communicate sophistication or cool detachment. He doesn't care. _Frank wants him to come to her show_. "Sure," he says, trying to remember how to form proper sentences. "I – yeah, sure! Awesome."

"Cool. So," she says, raising an eyebrow and flicking her lip ring with her tongue. He clings desperately to his train of thought. "You got a name and number, or are you good with me calling you Mikeyway's Loser Brother?"

"Gerard," he says. "I'm Gerard."

He gives her his number, and she saves it in her cell phone as Mikeyway's Loser Brother anyway. He wouldn't dare to complain, even if he wanted to. He's totally going to the show.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(She finds him after the show. She's flushed and tousled, a bruise already darkening on her arm and a smear of blood on her cheekbone, sweaty and slick under his hands when she pushes Gerard up against a wall and kisses him, deep and dirty and open-mouthed. They end up in the tiny dressing room, Frank slouched low in the chair, her knees splayed wide and her ratty panties around her ankles and Gerard on his knees in front of her as she works her fingers into his hair and guides his mouth.

She keeps the docs on.

Gerard's still a little scared of her, but mostly just kind of in love.)


End file.
